True Feelings
by MasquedMagick
Summary: Francis traps Arthur and Alfred in his basement and refuses to let them go unless the Englishman reveals his "true feelings" to the American. US/UK. Oneshot.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia nor any of the characters affiliated with it. They are owned by Hidekazu Himaruya.

**Beta Reader:** Tsuki no Kimi (I can even begin to thank her enough for editing this. Thank you, thank you, thank you!)

**Warning:** This is rated mature for a reason. It contains instances profanity and smut. If you are not comfortable with reading these things then I suggest you turn back now. If you're still with us then enjoy.

* * *

**True Feelings**

Arthur Kirkland loved tea. He always looked forward to the time of day when he would sit down, put a cup to his lips, and slurp up the wonderful substance.

Today was no different from any other day of the week. When the time came, Arthur left his work. He walked into the parlor, had a seat in his favorite cushioned chair, picked up his teacup, and began drinking.

The flavor of the day was Earl Grey; it had been one of Arthur's favorites since the British Prime Minister of the same name had allowed Arthur to take a sip of it. The black liquid had a citrus-like flavor and smelled of Italian bergamot; he mentally reminded himself to tell Feliciano to send some more of the oranges over so that he could make more of the tea.

Arthur was just about to take another sip when he heard something fall in the other room. Setting his teacup down beside him, he turned in his chair so that he could face the doorway behind him, listening. He heard nothing, but had a faint idea of what had happened.

His fairy friends had recently told him that the hobs often became restless during this time of year and that they were more prone to become upset over trifling things. Hobs, when upset, would often wreck havoc and create chaos. They'd knock over objects, chew up electrical cords, and defecate in the strangest of places.

Arthur sighed, knowing that he would have to stitch together some garments for the little buggers. That was the only way to get rid of a Hob; if you give the little vermin some clothes, they supposedly leave your home forever.

The Englishman turned back around in his chair and threw a glance at his teacup; after a moment's hesitation, he picked it back up again. The fuzzy little mischief makers would have to wait until he'd finished his drink. _Besides_, he thought, _how much damage could they do in the next few minutes_?

As if on cue, he heard a resounding crash from across the hall.

Once again, Arthur was forced to set his teacup down as he walked out of the parlor and across the hall into the lounge. There, on the wooden floor, lay what had once been Arthur's prized tea set. It had been gifted to him during the Tudor era and he had never used it, not even once. His brows furrowed in anger at the loss of the antique.

"_Fracoþ Cofgodas_!" Arthur yelled angrily, clenching his fists at his sides. Suddenly, the world went dark for Arthur; something resembling a sack had been forced over his head. He was forced down onto his knees and pushed onto the floor as he felt someone – or something – sat down on the small of his back and grabbed his wrists. The disoriented Arthur struggled as his hands were pulled together and tied behind his back.

The weight suddenly disappeared, and Arthur rolled over and sat up, maneuvering his legs beneath himself and standing. The Englishman could hear his assailant's heavy breathing nearby, so he charged toward the noise, with the intention of bashing into whoever or whatever it was with his shoulder. He collided with something very solid, very alive, and very human. Whoever it was, they ended up being knocked back into the wall behind them.

Arthur charged again at his attacker; this time, the person moved out of the way and allowed Arthur to crash into the wall. He stepped back in pain, his shoulder now throbbing, and spun around for another go. Something hard, and quite possibly made out of metal, collided with his head and the world truly went dark for the Englishman.

Arthur's assailant watched as his prey crumpled and fell to the floor. He placed his weapon, an iron fireplace shovel, back on the mantel and walked over to the struggling man. He bent over, picked up his bounty, and slung him over his shoulder.

"You fought well, _Angleterre_..."

* * *

When Arthur awoke, he was immediately conscious of his wounds; his shoulder ached and his head felt as if it had been split in two. He quickly realized that the sack was still on his head and his hands were still bound together behind him. He also noticed that he was lying down on a hard surface and was now only wearing his boxers.

The Englishman sat up slowly, feeling his legs drop down to the floor as he did. He was sitting on something. A bench of some sort he presumed. Whatever it was it was made out of wood and the floor beneath him was definitely solid stone. Arthur began listening for any clue to where he now resided, because he knew for sure that he was definitely no longer in his house.

Arthur heard a door open to his right and he turned towards the sound. Footsteps followed, becoming louder as their owner got closer to Arthur. When they stopped, Arthur tilted his head up to where he thought the face would be on the person standing in front of him.

"Who are you and what do you want?" Arthur said angrily to his captor.

The only response he got was chuckling, which made the Englishman even more infuriated than he already was. He lunged forward in a sad attempt at , but the person sidestepped and Arthur fell off the bench and face first into the stone floor.

"_Ge_ bastard!" the Englishman spat at the other man.

"Now, now, _Angleterre_, didn't I tell you to quit speaking in that awful old tongue of yours? It sounds barbaric," the man laughed as he hoisted Arthur up and forced him to walk forward.

Arthur recognized the voice almost instantly, "_Gallia._"

The sack was removed from Arthur's head and he glared into the face of his long time enemy.

"You haven't called me that in a very long time, _Angleterre_," said the Frenchman.

While still restraining Arthur, he yanked open a large wooden door in front of them. He quickly cut loose Arthur's binding, and, before the Englishman could turn around and attack him, pushed Arthur through the door and slammed it shut.

Arthur could hear a resounding click as Francis locked the door. As soon as it shut, he turned around and began beating on the door with his fists, cursing France's very name in his old tongue as he did so.

"_Angleterre_, you need to quit yapping like that. I may understand you, but your roommate won't," Francis replied from the other side of the door.

_What roommate?_ Arthur thought. The room he was in was pitch-black and hard to navigate, but if someone else was in there, surely they would've reacted to Arthur and Francis' altercation? Arthur stopped yelling briefly to listen for someone, but heard nothing.

"There's a light-switch to your left, _Angleterre_. Oh, and mind the stairs," Francis murmured through the door.

Arthur heard the Frenchman's footsteps fade as he left, and he felt around in the darkness for the wall on the left. He found it, and began feeling around on it for the light-switch France had mentioned. Arthur was scooting down the wall feeling all around for the switch when suddenly the floor dropped out from under his left foot. While scrambling to regain his balance, he discovered the light-switch and flipped it on.

The light that flicked on abruptly illuminated the small stairwell that Arthur was standing at the top of. He could see that at the bottom of the stairs, there was a doorway to a dark room and another light-switch next to it. The Englishman took another glance at the door behind him, which was far too solid-looking for him to break down, and then made his way down the stairs. He turned on the second light-switch and looked into the next room.

The room definitely looked like a basement. The floor and walls were made of stone and the ceiling was nothing but support beams for what he assumed was a room above. There was a single light-bulb dangling from an electrical cord that served as the light-source for the entire room. On one side of the room, there was a single twin-sized mattress and on the other an assortment of old junk. Directly across from where Arthur was standing, there was another doorway that led to what appeared to be a bathroom with a sink and toilet.

However, at the time there was only one thing that Arthur was staring at. It was the half naked man who sat tied to an old dining chair in the middle of the room. He was gagged, blindfolded, and unusually still. His messy dirty blond hair was hanging in his face and, much like Arthur, he was only wearing his boxers.

Arthur walked over to the man. "Alfred?"

* * *

Alfred F. Jones woke up with someone shaking him and calling his name; his hands were no longer tied up and he was now lying in someone's arms.

"Alfred. Alfred! Wake up, you idiot!" the voice shouted.

When he realized that whoever was shaking and yelling at him had no intention of stopping anytime soon, he began to open his eyes. _Too bright!_ his brain screamed as he squinted into the light. Suddenly, someone was shading him from that awful brightness. He looked up into a blur of green and wheat yellow.

"Alfred?" the voice asked again, this time less harshly.

"Who?" the American tried to ask. His voice came out as a croak, but the other person seemed to understand what he was saying.

"It's Arthur," the voice said to him.

"Arthur?" Alfred replied. He suddenly wanted to sit up. If this was indeed Arthur, then he didn't want to look like a weakling lying in the floor. He sat up a little too quickly, and started to fall backwards from the disorientation. He felt Arthur place his hands on his shoulders to steady him.

Once he regained his senses, the American looked around the room. Everything looked blurry, and reached up and felt around on his face. His glasses were gone. He turned to the blur that he assumed was Arthur.

"Where's Texas?" he asked the older male.

Arthur looked around the room quickly, sighting something glinting at the edge of a junk pile. He got up and began walking towards it, but before he could get far, hands shot out and wrapped around Arthur's leg. He spun around and saw the American clinging to him like a child.

"Let me go, you stupid git. I'm going to get your glasses!" he said to Alfred.

"You'll come back, right?" Alfred asked.

"I'm only walking a couple of feet away, and then coming back," Arthur replied grumpily.

Alfred loosened his grip enough for Arthur to pull his leg free. Less than a minute later, the Englishman was placing Texas in Alfred's hands. The other nation placed the glasses back on his nose and looked over towards Arthur.

"It really _is_ you," he said, smiling.

Arthur sighed. Alfred was trying to be his usual cheery self, but the Englishman could see that the smile wasn't quite reaching his eyes. Those blue orbs had the same look in them that he remembered from Alfred's childhood; the look he'd have after he read scary horror novels at night. After finishing them, he wouldn't be able to sleep alone and would sneak into Arthur's room and slide under the covers next to him.

"Who else would it be?" Arthur said smiling back.

* * *

The rest of the day was uneventful. France never came back, the two of them couldn't think of a reason for them to be held captive, and neither of them got a bite to eat. The latter was especially hard on the American who had never in his life had felt true hunger. Every few minutes the younger man's stomach would growl.

The next morning, Arthur woke up with an arm in his face. He threw the limb back towards it's owner and sat up staring angrily at him. The two of them had to share the single mattress, and all night Alfred has thrashed about. Arthur faintly could see the bruises forming due to the American's flying limbs. The Englishman stood up and kicked Alfred directly in the stomach. Alfred woke up immediately and doubled over in pain.

"What was that for?" he demanded.

"For these, you big oaf!" Arthur said, pointing to his bruises. He started walking around the room agitatedly.

"What are you doing?" Alfred asked, after he had regained his composure.

"Something old people do when they wake up," Arthur retorted.

"You've never done that before," Alfred replied.

"The last time you and I slept in the same room I was nowhere near this old! Come to think of it, I'm not that old now," Arthur growled angrily.

"If you're not old, then why are you doing it?" the American retorted.

Arthur scowled at the younger nation as his only response, and Alfred remained quiet for a time. That was, until his stomach growled.

"I'm hungry," Alfred said sadly. It was said more to himself than anyone else, but the angry Englishman pacing the room still heard his complaint. Somehow those two words made him snap.

"I know you're bloody-fucking-hungry! If you don't shut your damn yap I'm going to rip your arm off and shove it down your throat!" he yelled as he stomped over to Alfred and stood, intimidating, over him.

"You sure that's the only thing that you want to put down Alfred's throat, _Angleterre_?" Arthur heard a voice behind him say.

Arthur spun around, and saw Francis standing in the door frame that led to the stairwell. Arthur's already prevalent glare intensified as he bolted toward the Frenchman. Francis, aware of the danger he was in, quickly ran up the stairs and slammed the wooden door shut right before Arthur grabbed him.

"Francis!" Arthur yelled, pounding on the door.

"I'll only talk when you can act civil towards me," Francis said through the door.

"Civil? You're talking about civil when you're the one holding two people hostage in your basement!" Arthur retorted.

Francis didn't respond, so Arthur tried to calm himself enough to sound _civil_.

"Why have you got us locked down here?" Arthur asked.

"To reveal the truth," the Frenchman responded.

"What truth?" Arthur questioned.

"Your true feelings," Francis replied.

"True feelings? …You can't mean?" Arthur worriedly asked.

"Yes, _Angleterre_, that. And I won't be letting either of you out until you express those feelings," Francis explained patronizingly.

Arthur was horrified. "If I do that... you'll let us out?"

"Yes, I promise," the Frenchman replied.

Arthur heard Francis' footsteps fade as he walked away, and he turned and began walking back down the stairs with a feeling of dread hanging over him. When he looked up, he saw Alfred at the bottom of the steps looking up at him with hopeful eyes.

"Well, did he tell you why we're down here?" Alfred asked.

Arthur walked past him and back over to the mattress, sitting down on it and putting his head in his hands. Alfred came and sat next to him tentatively.

"So what is it?" the American asked. "I'll do anything to get outta here and grab a bite to eat."

"It's not something you have to do, Al," Arthur said looking at his toes.

"It's something you have to do then? Well then I want you to do it, Iggy!" Alfred said, shaking the Englishman beside him.

Arthur glanced sideways at the cheerful looking American beside him. He suddenly reached out, grabbed Alfred by shoulders, pushed him down onto the mattress, and straddled him.

"Even this?" asked Arthur, looking down at the confused boy beneath him. Alfred didn't seem to understand at first, but a look of apprehension quickly filled his eyes.

"He asked you to do _that_?" Alfred asked shakily.

"Yes," Arthur answered, attempting to get up.

Alfred reached out a grasped the older male's arm, pulling him back down. Arthur looked back down at the American; a look of determination had filled the younger nation's eyes. It was strange how quickly Alfred's attitude could change when he was presented with a problem he needed to solve.

"Then do it," he said firmly.

When Arthur didn't respond, the American yanked him down and roughly kissed him. The kiss was sloppy and inexperienced. A shocked Arthur pulled away from it and saw the worry on Alfred's face.

"Tch, apparently if I don't teach you something then you'll go and do it completely wrong," Arthur said mockingly as Alfred frowned beneath him.

"You do it like _this_," the Englishman said, half-smiling as he dipped back down for another kiss.

This kiss was much different than the first. Their lips met in a soft but forceful way and as the kiss deepened, Alfred found himself closing his eyes and wrapping his arms around Arthur's neck. The Englishman's tongue slipped into the American's mouth and began caressing the inside; the pleasure that brought only made Alfred want to use his tongue as well. Their kissing became more lustful as it went on, and Arthur was once again was the first one to pull up.

The American beneath him opened his eyes for a moment, but closed them rather quickly when he found that Arthur had begun trail kisses down from his jaw to his neck. Arthur worked his way down, nipping, sucking, and licking Alfred's tender flesh. Once he'd made his way down to Alfred's nipple he began swirling his tongue around and teasing the tender nub. Alfred responded by bucking up towards the male above him.

"Patience," Arthur countered, looking at Alfred with a devilish grin.

Alfred thought that it seemed that Arthur was enjoying this a lot more than he originally acted like he was going to. In fact, it seemed like Arthur had been wanting to do this for a very long time. He began to wonder how long when his train of thought was halted by a temperature change effecting his lower regions. Arthur had yanked the American's boxers off and exposed his now throbbing member to the cold air.

As soon as Arthur began to touch Alfred's cock, he responded by arching his back in pleasure. Arthur began moving his hand up and down the shaft; at first he moved his hand slowly, but he quickly picked up the pace. He placed his mouth over the head and sucked hard as Alfred began moaning. The moaning inspired Arthur to try taking the whole thing into his mouth, but he barely managed to do so. When the tip hit the back of Arthur's throat, Alfred bucked up again. It caused Arthur to choke and he pulled up, quickly coughing.

"Sorry," Alfred said looking at the older male.

"It's fine," Arthur replied, as he stood up and removed his own boxers.

He looked down at Alfred for a brief moment; the young nation's cheeks were colored pink and his eyes were glazed over with lust. It only made the Englishman long for him more. He sat down next to the American and quickly put his fingers in his own mouth. Alfred watched on in fascination as Arthur coated the fingers in saliva. The older male then began lubricating his own tight hole.

One finger first; then two, then three, and when he was satisfied that he'd stretched himself enough he straddled the American once again. This time he slowly lowered himself down onto Alfred's attentive member. Arthur gasped along with Alfred as it first went in. Despite how much it hurt, Arthur continued to lower himself farther and farther down until he completely sheathed Alfred. He closed his eyes and waited for the pain to pass, and he felt Alfred lightly grab onto his hips. He was about to protest before he realized that he'd probably need the help.

Arthur began to slowly move up and down with Alfred's help. As Arthur got faster and faster, he felt the younger nation begin to thrust up to meet him. The two of them continued on like this until Alfred could no longer contain the pressure building up inside of him.

"Iggy... gonna..." Alfred managed to pant out.

"Do it," Arthur said harshly. Alfred released the pressure and his thick cum shot into Arthur. Arthur arched his back in pleasure and then he, too, came onto Alfred's stomach seconds later. The exhausted Englishman pulled himself off Alfred, collapsing onto the mattress next to him.

Both men lay there panting afterwards, but it was Alfred who broke the silence first. "Hey, Iggy?"

"What?" asked Arthur, turning to face him.

Alfred grinned back at him. "Aren't you glad I paid France to lock us down here?"

* * *

**A/N**: So I bet it's not hard to guess who hasn't written any smut in a VERY long time. I feel like it was over kinda quickly. I honestly don't know how well I did considering I laugh when I read my own renditions of doing the dirty deed.

I actually liked writing the first part the most and I learned some interesting things about tea and hobs while doing it.

Before someone asks hobs are more commonly called brownies. They're little magical mischievous creatures that live in peoples homes. If you've seen or read Harry Potter then Dobby is a rendition of one.

The strange language that Arthur is speaking is my attempt at trying to make him talk in Old English. I used a translator and some research to make those small sentences, but I know they are most likely very wrong and probably don't even say what I want them to.  
-Fracoþ Cofgodas = Worthless Hobs (Cofgoda literally means "cove gods" and they are similar to hobs.)  
-Ge bastard = You bastard...maybe?  
-Gallia = I think this means Kingdom of the Gauls. If I got my history right then way back in the day that's what France was called.  
(A big thanks to The Nameless Stranger for pointing out that Gallia is actually the Greek word for France. Let's just pretend it's Old English for my sake. I'd hate to have to go back and re-learn those scant pieces of knowledge on Old English that I've already forgotten.)

Anyway, you can tell me what you think by leaving a review.  
All types of reviews are welcome whether they be good or bad.


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